Single Malt #1

Welcome to Single Malt—where absurdity reigns and reason takes a coffee break. Each story, no longer than five sentences, is a miniature plunge into a world where logic unravels, meaning slips through your fingers, and the bizarre feels oddly familiar. Talking furniture, misplaced gravity, and existential fruit all coexist without explanation or apology. These tales don’t seek sense—they celebrate nonsense. Embrace the confusion, suspend your disbelief, and let the absurd do what it does best: bewilder and amuse.

Greg, a Nearly Man

'I have alienated myself from peers, friends and family in pursuit of this science. I have spent three million dollars of state grants and private sector investment to deliver the next giant leap. Tonight I will start the machine and travel through time — I WILL sleep with Paula Abdul in 1989!’

More Biscuits

When the vacuum cleaner burst from the biscuit cupboard at Pine Hills Retirement Home demanding Bourbon creams, the orderlies readied their speed-mops — well aware that the pensioners, in synchronised shock, would relieve themselves in unison. Later, it was discovered by President Trump — a Chinese woman in her eighties — that the yellow stuff was being harvested to water the new Mongolian pee-plants growing beside the tyre swings.

Loneliness, the Mother of all Weirdos

‘I bought an ice-cream from a mugger dressed as Mr. Whippy yesterday. Now I’m broke, and after hours spent ironing trousers and scrubbing god-knows-what off the mattress to break the monotony, it seems the only thrill left is masturbating on the curtains.’